


Trouble Sleeping

by hollycomb



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycomb/pseuds/hollycomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sulu and Chekov sleep in the same bed, but they're never in it at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> I've been asked to post the STXI fics I did from 2009-2011 on AO3, so here are the ones I still like, starting with this, the first one I did.

Sulu and Chekov share a room, but they're never in it at the same time. They sleep in shifts, Chekov from 09:00-15:00 and Sulu from 16:00-23:00. From midnight to nine in the morning they man the deck together, most of the rest of the crew asleep. Sulu saunters in, still half-asleep after his coffee, to find Chekov biting his nails and playing computer chess while the Enterprise sails unharassed through space. Things haven't been quite as exciting as they were during their first voyage together.  
  
"Good morning," Chekov says as Sulu comes to his seat. Chekov is beaming, clearly glad to have company. Most of the lights on the deck are down, everything but the monitoring stations in hibernation mode.  
  
"Hey," Sulu says. "Were you eating in bed yesterday morning?" he asks, still irritated for the time he had to waste picking what seemed to be pieces of cereal out of his blankets. There's no point, they've been told, in having two beds inside their quarters, since they'll never be sleeping there at the same time.  
  
"Sorry." Chekov smiles nervously. "I'm not sleeping too good."  
  
"Maybe you should see the doctor."  
  
"No, no. It's not that bad."  
  
"Are you winning?" Sulu asks, nodding to Chekov's screen. Chekov closes the chess program and turns back to Sulu with pink cheeks.  
  
"Sorry," he says again.  
  
"It's okay," Sulu says. "I know there's not much going on."  
  
Something about Chekov makes Sulu feel embarrassed all the time. It's a sympathetic thing; Chekov is always anxious, but not in the obnoxious way of some of the ensigns. His self-consciousness seems to come from a place of true concern about the opinions of those around him, not from any doubts that he has about himself. Sulu isn't sure quite where the distinction lies, but he's spent some time thinking about it, because he's never really met anyone quite like Chekov and he's trying to sort out the particulars of Chekov's uniqueness. He hasn't been sleeping very well himself.  
  
"Just a week until we dock," Sulu says. Chekov is fidgeting and staring out at the dull spread of space. He seems lonely, the sort of kid who would miss his mother.  
  
"Of course," Sulu says, "You and I won't be disembarking." The other thing he's thinking about recently is the day when he and Kirk fought Romulan warriors in the air above Vulcan. He's been waiting since then for his fencing skills to be called upon again, but lately he's just been asked to do the job he was trained for.  
  
"We could play against each other," Sulu says after an hour of checking and rechecking the systems that he and Chekov monitor. No changes.  
  
"What?" Chekov looks panicked, and Sulu grins.  
  
"Chess," Sulu says. "Or something else. We should play a game, to pass the time. The officers won't arrive for three hours."  
  
"Oh." Chekov scratches his fingers through his hair. The hair is part of Chekov's uniqueness; it factors into the equation somehow. Even his curls seem tense and uptight, but boyish, too. Sulu feels like an idiot, noticing something so mundane and ridiculous, but he can't help it. It's been a long couple of months since the excitement with Nero.  
  
They play chess, and then backgammon. Chekov is much better at both, and he seems embarrassed every time Sulu loses.  
  
"I was an only child," Sulu says, neither bothered nor surprised by the fact that Chekov is wiping the floor with him. "I never really played games like this, growing up."  
  
"You fenced, though?" Chekov asks, looking up from the screen where they've been playing the game. Sulu is suddenly conscious of how close they're sitting, with Chekov's earnest face turned up to his. He recognizes the smell of Chekov, the same soft spice of his skin that is left on the sheets when Sulu takes his turn in the bed.  
  
"Yeah, I fenced," Sulu says. There's been talk about his adventure with Kirk on Vulcan since the excitement ended. Sulu has never before been admired by his peers for physical accomplishments. Fencing was a fringe hobby at the academy; it was considered old-fashioned and sentimental.  
  
"I never learned anything like that," Chekov says. He looks sad; Sulu chews his lip to keep from grinning. "I have only the most basic combat training."  
  
"You can take courses," Sulu says. "The Federation encourages that. Continuing education and all."  
  
"Do you think you would ever teach one?" Chekov asks. "In fencing, maybe?"  
  
"Uh, well. Fencing isn't the most practical means of combat instruction."  
  
"Yes, okay, but it worked for you, yeah?"  
  
Sulu grins. He's heard about this, part of the disturbing process of getting older: the ensigns begin to kiss your ass. With Chekov, of course, it's sincere, but the effect is the same. Sulu's face is red. He feels old, though he's only four years older than Chekov.  
  
"If you want me to teach you how to fence," Sulu says, "I can. When we're back on Earth. Or, hey. Maybe while the others are down on the planet after we dock."  
  
"Yeah." Chekov grins. "I think it would be fun."  
  
Sulu snorts. Chekov's skin is so pale that Sulu can see the blue of his veins at his temples. He seems too fragile even for fencing. When 09:00 comes around, Sulu has to remind Chekov to go and take his turn to rest. He wonders about the last time Chekov had a full night's sleep. Chekov seems a bit otherworldly, as if he doesn't need sleep and food and sex like other humans. Sulu laughs to himself at the idea of Chekov having sex. He would be trembly and coated with sweat, his curls dark and damp, eyes closed as he cursed under his breath in Russian.  
  
Sulu shifts in his seat, his skin tightening with interest at the thought. Well, fine. It's been awhile since he was in such a compromising position himself. Things are bound to get a little weird on a long voyage. He should be better about changing the sheets on the bed so they don't always smell like Chekov. Who is probably a virgin, anyway.  
  
"Lieutenant Sulu?"  
  
He jumps out of his skin and turns to see a young female ensign approaching him with a clipboard clutched to her chest. She starts to apologize for intruding and he shakes his head, calling her over. Her status report is a welcome distraction from wherever those thoughts were leading.  
  
*  
  
Chekov must need sleep after all, because at 15:00 he doesn't show up for his shift, and when Sulu puts an ensign in charge of his station and goes off to find Chekov, he's in the first place Sulu checks: the bed. The room is dark and Chekov is turned toward the wall, his alarm beeping its warning and Chekov sleeping right through it. Sulu is surprised; Chekov doesn't seem like the type who could sleep through anything.  
  
"Hey," he says, and when Chekov still doesn't move, Sulu begins to become concerned. He sits down on the bed and reaches for Chekov's bare shoulder, giving it a shake. The warmth of his skin is a relief, especially when Sulu notices a bottle of sleeping pills on the bed stand. He picks them up and groans, reading the label. Just the kind of shit McCoy would irresponsibly give the kid. So Chekov saw the doctor after all. Stupidly, Sulu likes the idea that Chekov did what he told him to, followed his advice.  
  
"Pavel," Sulu says sharply, shaking Chekov harder now. Chekov groans but doesn't move, so Sulu grabs both his shoulders and hauls him up. Chekov is dead weight in Sulu's grip, but he opens his eyes a little and grins at Sulu, his head lolling back. Sulu wishes Chekov was wearing a shirt; he feels like a dirty old man, holding Chekov up, his hands on Chekov's bare skin.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Chekov asks, slurring and smiling, his accent even thicker than usual, and Sulu should put a light on, because in the dull glow from the night light in the attached bathroom Chekov looks dangerously pretty, and he smells like the bed, like sleep, like everything Sulu wants to sink into.  
  
"How many of those pills did you take?" Sulu asks.  
  
"Two," Chekov says. He smirks, and it goes right to Sulu's lap. "Or three. I couldn't sleep."  
  
"Well, you're late for your shift."  
  
Chekov's face goes so suddenly fearful that Sulu can't help but laugh. Chekov smiles warily, and he leans forward, tipped toward Sulu, his hands in his lap and his head crooked curiously.  
  
"This bed smells like your hair," Chekov says, and Sulu is not as alarmed by what's happening as he probably should be. He doesn't even shift backward.  
  
"How do you know what my hair smells like?" Sulu asks, his heart starting to race along happily, setting off on him like a bandit.  
  
"From the pillow," Chekov says. Sulu could kiss him, or at least stroke his hand down Chekov's sweet face, his cheeks still hot from sleep. But he doesn't do anything, and Chekov sits in front of him like a frosted cake that is too perfect to cut into.  
  
"Let's go," Sulu says, standing. His knees are shaking a little. "Get dressed. It's my turn to use the bed. And I'll be confiscating these," he says, giving the pills a shake before sliding them into his pocket.  
  
"Am I in trouble?" Chekov asks, not moving.  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not? I thought there was a fine for being late to your post."  
  
"There is, but I'm covering your ass." Sulu immediately regrets that choice of words, and when Chekov tries and fails to swallow up a laugh, Sulu has to turn away. He puts his hands on his hips and pretends to be impatient.  
  
"Okay, okay," Chekov says, and Sulu hears the creak of the mattress as Chekov slides out of bed. He listens as Chekov puts on his shirt, his trousers, his shoes. When he's dressed, Chekov taps Sulu on the shoulder, and Sulu turns, looking down his nose at him. Chekov fidgets nervously, and Sulu can't stop himself from reaching out to smoosh down Chekov's curls.  
  
"Thank you," Chekov says softly. "For the. Ass covering."  
  
Sulu snorts and shakes his head. When Chekov smiles hugely Sulu has to physically push him from the room, because if he doesn't get rid of him right now Chekov will be another hour late for his shift. Once he's gone, Sulu takes a hot shower and climbs into bed to sleepily jerk off, his face buried in the pillow that smells not like his hair but like Chekov's.  
  
*  
  
When Sulu returns to the deck, he finds Chekov's loose smile gone, replaced by a look of terror when he sees Sulu crossing the room. He looks paler than usual, accented by the bright red that spreads across his cheeks when Sulu sits down beside him. Chekov starts typing wildly at his computer like he's worried that Sulu will accuse him of not having enough to do.  
  
"Are you feeling better?" Sulu asks, as if Chekov was sick before, and not just woozy from too many sleeping pills. He's a little disappointed, thinking that Chekov probably regrets the way he acted earlier, punch drunk and flirtatious in his innocent way.  
  
"Yes, thank you very much," Chekov says, exhaling a choppy breath and glancing at Sulu, then quickly away again. He looks as if he's on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry I was, um. Asleep, before."  
  
"It's not that big of a deal," Sulu says, though that's not true. He could barely sleep for all the thoughts of Chekov that he had after he'd chased him from the room. Even jerking off hadn't really helped.  
  
For the rest of their shift, Chekov is quiet and focused on his work, and Sulu doesn't suggest any games of chess, though the time is passing slowly and there isn't much to do. He sighs dramatically several times but can't work up the nerve to say anything about the earlier incident. He'd liked Chekov the way he was that morning, smiling sleepily and half-undressed, and he knows this is disgusting, pining after a teenager and wishing he was again semi-incoherent, but he can't help regretting taking the sleeping pills away. He feels guilty about this, and glances over at Chekov, who is still on the green side of pale.  
  
"Hey," Sulu says, and Chekov turns toward him eagerly, as if he's been waiting for hours for Sulu to speak. "You feeling alright?"  
  
"Oh, yes, sir," Chekov says, nodding, and the 'sir' stings a little bit, though Sulu knows Chekov only means to be respectful. "I'm fine."  
  
"Good," Sulu mutters, feeling awkward. At 09:00, he again has to remind Chekov to take his leave. Chekov slumps away, and Sulu watches him go, wondering how he's managed to screw up his friendship with even a worshipful teenager. There's no one else on the ship that he feels especially close to; he and Kirk work well together, but Kirk is always chasing women when he's not on duty, and Sulu has never been interested in that particular hobby. Uhura is nice enough, but she's a bit intense. Spock only ever wants to talk about work. Sulu had been hoping that he and Chekov could become close, but leave it to him to want so much closeness that he's scared the kid away.  
  
At 15:00, Chekov shows up promptly, and Sulu is disappointed, wishing he again had an excuse to sneak into their bedroom and rouse Chekov out of a deep, rosy-cheeked sleep, the perfume of Chekov's skin thick in the air of their small quarters. They smile at each other tightly, and when Sulu's break begins at 16:00, he heads for the room, feeling much too awake to sleep, and too depressed to enjoy a jerk off or even a hot shower. When he gets there he shuts himself in and wanders about the room, poking through Chekov's effects: Russian novels, a brown sweater that seems as if it would be much too big for him, boxer shorts with little bluebirds printed on them, a box of black licorice. Sulu eats a piece of the licorice and spits it out; he's never liked the stuff. Feeling like the biggest asshole in the universe, he puts a little of Chekov's toothpaste on his finger and licks it off, laughing out loud at himself. He takes one of the sleeping pills, then another, and falls into the bed like he's been pushed.  
  
He wakes up slowly, feeling groggy. He's still stuck in some dream about Chekov: Chekov is in the bed with him, whispering and radiating heat like a burning star. For someone so small and skinny and pale, he gives off warmth like a reactor. Sulu opens his eyes wider and realizes that he's not dreaming, Chekov is sitting on the end of the bed and shaking him, holding him up and looking concerned. Sulu laughs and grabs Chekov's arms.  
  
"Mr. Sulu," Chekov is saying desperately. "Please, are you awake?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Sulu says, trying not to drool. He feels pretty good, actually, as if he is dreaming and can do whatever he likes, without consequences. "'M awake."  
  
"I think you did the same mistake I did," Chekov says, glancing at the bottle of pills on the bed stand.  
  
"Wow." Sulu snorts. "You are a boy genius," he says sarcastically. Chekov grips him more tightly, frowning.  
  
"I'm not a boy," he says.  
  
"You're right," Sulu says, flopping his head forward in a sloppy nod. "You saved my life, after all."  
  
"Yes," Chekov says, sitting up straighter.  
  
"I never really got a chance to thank you."  
  
"You don't have to thank me," Chekov says, and just the way he pronounces _thank_ makes Sulu's bones melt. He wants his tongue on Chekov's skin, everywhere, wants to hear the noises he makes when he feels so good that his hands curl into fists around the sheets.  
  
"Yes, I do," Sulu says, though he's kind of lost track of what they were talking about.  
  
"No," Chekov says. "It was you, that was why I could do it. I ran all the way there, so fast. I had to do it, because it was you."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I --" Chekov says, stuttering. His eyes are so big, and still getting wider. "No one here cares for you as much as I do," he says, very quietly. "I don't think."  
  
"Why?" Sulu asks, blinking and shaking his head. The near-darkness of the room is warm, too, like Chekov, and Sulu feels like he's floating, as if he can reach out and grab his happiness, as if it's always been this easy and he's just never realized it until now.  
  
"Why?" Chekov repeats, looking incredibly distressed, as if Sulu has broken his heart by not knowing why Chekov might care for him. Sulu laughs and leans forward to cup Chekov's face in his hands. He can feel Chekov's breath against his lips, and Chekov isn't backing away. He doesn't look scared anymore. He's staring at Sulu's lips, and then up into his eyes.  
  
"You'll be late for your post," Chekov whispers.  
  
"I already am," Sulu says. It's not as if it doesn't matter. Of course it does. He kisses Chekov anyway, and the worthiness of doing so whites everything else out, his whole life. Chekov pushes a surprised little moan into Sulu's mouth – he's still managed to be surprised, really? – and Sulu drops one hand from Chekov's cheek down around the small of his back, pulling them fully together. Chekov grins against Sulu's mouth, tipping his head back.  
  
"My toothpaste," he says. "And my candy."  
  
"Shut up," Sulu mutters, and he kisses Chekov harder, licking past his lips. Chekov opens up so easily for Sulu, who quickly has him on his back on the bed, the magic of the sleeping pills still strumming through him, making him feel invincible, the way he felt when Chekov saved him, when he teleported away from his oncoming death. He and Chekov fit together the way they did that day when Chekov reached out across space and plucked Sulu out of the air. Chekov has something in him that finds Sulu, something that has honed in on him from the start.  
  
"God," Sulu breathes out when Chekov is flattened beneath him, trembling and hot enough to make Sulu worried that they'll both overheat and explode. He kisses his way down Chekov's pale neck, tearing his shirt off so that he can lick into the hollow of Chekov's throat. Chekov whines and clings, bucking up against Sulu, every drag of his erection against Sulu's enough to make Sulu see red.  
  
"Fuck, this bed's been driving me crazy," Sulu says as he reaches down between them to palm the shape of Chekov's cock through his trousers. Chekov arches up against Sulu's hand, breathing so hard that Sulu thinks he'll come just from the sound of Chekov's breath coupled with the sight of his lips, wet and open and red.  
  
"The way it smells like you," Sulu says before bending down to bite at one of Chekov's bright pink nipples. Chekov yelps and twists beneath him, his curls dark and damp against the white sheets, just the way Sulu knew they would look.  
  
"I know," Chekov cries. "I know, I know."  
  
They kiss with wild desperation, like teenagers, though Sulu never had the opportunity to kiss someone like this when he was a teenager himself. He likes the feeling of being older now, looming over Chekov, who looks up at him as if he's amazed, and who jerks in Sulu's grip when he comes, squeezing Sulu's arms and not cursing in Russian but just chanting _yes: da, da, da, Hikaru_. Sulu comes just like a teenager himself, giving it up easily to the first few squeezes of Chekov's cautious hand. He's shaking like mad afterward, and Chekov is so pale and soft beneath him, needing to be held himself. Sulu does so as best as he can, shaken and just beginning to come out of the sleeping pill haze, the harsher colors of the real world settling onto him. He kisses Chekov to calm himself down, and Chekov tastes so good, the best reassurance Sulu could have.  
  
"I have to go," Sulu says, speaking into Chekov's open mouth. Chekov is like a broken code in his arms, hanging loose and unguarded, easy to gather up and hold close. He shakes his head when Sulu tries to move away, and grips him tighter.  
  
"I told them you had to see the doctor," Chekov says, grinning. "And me, too. About a sleep disorder. They put some others on our stations."  
  
"Sneaky," Sulu says, sinking back down gratefully. Chekov kisses him, and Sulu can feel how tired he is by the softness of his lips, the lazy drag of his tongue.  
  
"Is this the cure, then?" Sulu says, running his fingers through Chekov's hair to disturb the illogical order of it, standing it all up, making him look even younger.  
  
"Yes, the cure," Chekov says, his eyes already half-closed, as if Sulu has drugged him. Their come is cooling between them, and Sulu thinks of pulling Chekov into the shower to spend an hour running a bar of soap over every inch of his skin, until he's begging for Sulu's mouth on his cock. Sure, it would be fun, but at the moment he's so in love with the bed, and with Chekov actually in it with him, his limbs beginning to grow heavy in Sulu's grip.  
  
"Better than sleeping pills," Sulu says, patting Chekov's hair down again. "We'll have to tell them we need an hour of overlap time. For the sake of our, whatever. Sleep habits. Sanity."  
  
"Yes, certainly," Chekov mutters, pressing his face to Sulu's chest. Sulu pets Chekov's hair and wonders how much time they really have. Until Chekov's next shift? His eyelids are drooping and he's yawning against the smooth plane of Chekov's forehead. What if someone comes looking for him and finds them like this? Anybody who did would hardly be entitled to surprise. Sulu can't imagine anyone being assigned to sleep in Chekov's bed and not falling in love with him for just the sweet smell he leaves behind on the pillow. He counts himself lucky that Chekov was somehow similarly affected. It's a miracle, like falling toward the rocky surface of a planet and landing safely on the ship. He could have landed so hard, been blown to unrecognizable pieces, but then Chekov swept in and saved him, and all Sulu can do to repay him is hold him like this, as close as he can.


End file.
